


Off-Label

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Diagnose and Medicate [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bisexual Character, Character of Color, M/M, Pills That Make You Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-23
Updated: 2009-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duranol-B was developed as a chemical means of attacking and shrinking brain tumors. Phase I trials were promising, except for the reports that it didn't actually shrink brain tumors, and 90% of the patients complained that they "turned gay." (Set in Season 3 some time after "Fetal Position".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off-Label

He was convinced that it wouldn't have happened if Chase and Cameron hadn't had a fight. And not just any kind of fight, but obviously one of those bitter, nasty, first-time-fighting-in-this-relationship no-ground-rules fights. When Foreman came into work that morning, the two of them were sitting at the table and ignoring each other with a frostiness that was in danger of condensing water. Cameron had House's paperwork in front of her, reading glasses perched on her nose and pen hovering like a circling hawk, and Chase was ostentatiously flipping through a journal at a speed too great to do anything but occasionally get a glimpse of a picture.

Foreman eyed the both of them for a moment, then went to pour himself some coffee. "Bloom is off the rose, huh?"

"Nope," Chase said sarcastically, "according to her everything is just perfect."

Oh, good; it was Chase having the problem. If it was Cameron's problem she might assume that Foreman actually cared enough to want to listen to her complain.

He was saved by House pushing the door open. "Good morning," House announced, holding up a prescription bottle and rattling it invitingly. "Who wants to play for the other team?"

* * *

Foreman felt fairly sure he could reconstruct the chain of events leading to that announcement.

House would have gone into Wilson's office much like he entered any room--with his immense sense of entitlement clearing the way in front of him. "Give me the pills."

Wilson, pretty used to House by now, would have feigned ignorance and kept his nose in his paperwork. "What pills?"

"The ones that make you gay."

"House, Duranol-B is meant as a treatment for brain cancer, not for messing with your sexuality," Wilson would have argued.

Wait, no. That's what _Foreman_ was going to argue.

"I can't just prescribe you drugs for your own amusement," was something Wilson would say. "Either get brain cancer and get in the study, or wait until it's over the counter."

"Oh, yeah, since that worked so well last time," House might have the self-reflection to scoff. "I happen to know you've got a patient that cleared out of the trial as soon as he heard his brain might want him to look at naked men before it got consumed by tumors."

"And you can't have his pills."

It was about that point where Foreman's reconstruction broke down. Because House had a way of making reasoned, intelligent people with otherwise strong wills agree to his utterly batshit insane schemes on a regular basis, and as much as he tried to replicate the chain of events later, he could only really stare from a distance in awe and a little terror. But the scene obviously ended with Wilson handing over the medication.

"You actually want to try that on yourself?" Wilson would say.

House would just look at him, wide-eyed. "That's what minions are for."

* * *

"Who wants to play for the other team?"

Chase looked up, frowned. "What?"

"Duranol-B," House announced. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, "I hear it makes you gay."

Foreman looked back at Chase, who was frowning, but not in any panic. Which was only weird because Foreman knew that House knew that Chase was bi, and not even out to Cameron about it. All that ass-kissing must have been better protection than Foreman thought.

"Or straight," Cameron said. They all looked at her. "Or it makes you straight, if you start out gay," she clarified.

"And what if you start out bisexual?" Chase joked, a little too casually.

Cameron's mouth went thin and she turned away from him. House smirked, then said, "Dunno! Data's still coming in. But they are pretty sure," he shook the bottle a couple times, "that if you keep taking them for long enough you wind up bi."

Foreman cleared his throat. "Only sixty percent of respondents said they were bisexual at the end of the trial," he said.

"Which means that forty percent of them were lying," House said. "Who's up for a try?"

"House," Foreman said, "it's a drug for brain cancer. Not messing with people's sexuality."

House was unconcerned with that argument. "Why can't it be both?" he said. "And come to think of it, the results on the brain cancer weren't so encouraging. Anyway. Aren't any of you curious?"

"No," Foreman said flatly.

House's eyes were twinkling, and he may have--_may_ have been ready to make some kind of joke about That One Incident Foreman Never Wanted to Talk About, except that Cameron said, "Sure, I'll try one."

Foreman stared. So did the other two men. "Hot," House said.

Cameron's face was impassive as she shrugged. "Call me curious," she said.

"Yeah, 'cause drugs that make you wanna screw new and different people are right up your alley," Chase muttered.

"Yeah, I'd better be careful," Cameron said as House popped open the bottle and handed her a small yellow capsule. "Last time I wound up sleeping with you."

Chase's face went blank as he watched Cameron tilt back her head and swallow, but Foreman could see the mental arithmetic going on behind his eyes. "Right," Chase finally said. "Why don't you give me one, too?"

Cameron swiveled to look at him as House doled out another pill. "What?" she said.

"What what?" Chase sniped, then ostentatiously popped the pill into his mouth and washed it down with his coffee. Cameron stared at him for another few seconds, then crossed her arms and turned her back on him again.

House held the bottle out invitingly in Foreman's direction, and he glared House down. "Nope," he said. "Besides, you'd better save some so you and Wilson can have your gay affair."

"C'mon, I'm already gay for Wilson," House scoffed. "Okay, go about your business. And you," he pointed at Cameron, "I want photographic evidence that the lesbian thing works."

"You don't want pictures of Chase kissing guys?" Cameron asked.

"I have MySpace for that," House said.

"Hey," Chase said, "We're gonna need another one to switch back." At House's raised eyebrow, he cleared his throat and said, "I assume, anyway."

House smirked, then tossed the bottle to Foreman, underhanded. Foreman caught it reflexively, then sighed.

"Neurologist gets the brain pills," House said. "You can trade him in sexual favors."

Foreman raised an eyebrow. "He's not into that," he pointed out in the requisite third person.

"Not into lesbians?" House pulled a face that was almost concerned. "Are you sure you're not gay?"

Foreman held up the bottle and rattled it. "You sure you don't want one of these for Wilson?"

"What makes you think I haven't already dosed his coffee?" House asked, then stalked into his office and shut the door.

"Well," Chase said.

"How long do these take to take effect?" Cameron asked.

"Couple hours," Foreman said. "Apparently, anyway. But you notice before the end of the day."

"Good," she said, and bent back over the stack of paperwork.

* * *

"So... notice anything?" he asked Chase (purely for research purposes) a few hours later.

Chase raised both eyebrows in mock surprise. "Yeah, I'm gay now."

Foreman glared and Chase dropped it. "Nothing, really," he said.

"Really?"

"Hey, I'm trying to focus on work," Chase said, annoyed. "I usually try to keep it in my pants during on-call hours."

Foreman just stared at him until he started squirming. "Except while nailing Cameron in the janitor's closet, you mean?"

"Yeah, well, I..." Chase sighed. "I'm feeling less easily led, is that a side-effect?"

"I think it's a side effect of a breakup," Foreman said.

Chase actually looked startled at the thought. "You think she really wants to end it?"

"Dude," Foreman felt obliged to point out, "she became a lesbian to avoid you. How big of a hint do you need?"

"The lesbian thing's only temporary," Chase said defensively.

"The lesbian thing's until she gets another pill," Foreman said. "Maybe I wanna feel safe opening janitor's closets around here."

Chase rolled his eyes. "You'll have to hit half the doctors in the hospital to get that kind of security," he said. "Including House and Wilson. Again, I mean."

"You really think that they're--"

Chase pointed, forestalling him. "Bet you," he said, "They've screwed by the end of the day."

Foreman stared at the tip of Chase's index finger for a moment, then said, "Fifty. But only--and I can't believe I'm saying this--if you can prove it."

"Done," Chase said, grinning. "Just be ready to pay up tonight."

* * *

"How are you doing?" he asked Cameron next time he saw her, outside the clinic.

"Fine," she said, focusing far too hard on a patient's file. Very neatly, she drew a single check mark.

He cleared his throat and leaned a little closer. "You know, there are other side effects--nausea, headaches, partial blindness--"

Cameron pulled her glasses off in a snap. "Yes, it was an impulsive decision," she said, "but not one I regret making. I'm perfectly willing to try new things every once in a while, and I'm not threatened by the thought of sexuality as a more fluid concept that can be explored and anyway it can't be any worse than high-dose painkillers and we've stopped getting on House's case about those and this is not about Chase, in case you're wondering."

She looked at him in time to deliver the last clause. Foreman leaned back a bit, then clarified, "I wasn't wondering."

"Good," she said, "then don't worry about me. I'm a big doctor, I can take care of myself."

"Sure," he said, then, "you know, irritability? Also a side-effect."

"Also a side-effect of a breakup," she muttered.

"So you're going through with it?"

She tilted her head and gave him another look. "I don't know," she said with little inflection, "I'll try being a lesbian, see how that works for me."

Foreman was distracted from coming up with an answer by Dr. Cuddy, who emerged from her office, spotted them, and headed over with a distracted expression. "Hey, you two, do either of you have any idea what this presentation is that House wants to attend?"

Foreman went to check off Cameron's expression, but she was just staring off into space a little vaguely. "Uh, no," he said, to cover, "haven't heard anything."

Cuddy grumbled and resettled the pile of papers she was carrying up against her chest. "I'll see if Wilson knows. And is willing to talk."

"You could try asking House," Foreman offered.

Cuddy snorted. "Best way to get wrong information," she said. "Thanks."

Foreman watched her head for the elevators, then frowned at Cameron. "You okay?"

Cameron swallowed, then blinked a couple times. "Fine," she said. "Dr. Cuddy has really nice... jackets. You notice?"

It actually took physical effort to not laugh. He took very careful stock of his expression, then said gently, "I've been told it's not polite to stare."

"Shit," Cameron whispered fervently, then squeezed her eyes shut. "I didn't. Realize. Oh shit."

That was a little worrisome. "You'll get used to it," he said, trying to be reassuring.

"I know, I know. I just wasn't _expecting_\--right. Okay." She took a deep breath. "Well. I'll talk to you later." She snapped the patient's file closed, turned, and headed for the exam rooms, clutching the folder hard enough to bend it.

Foreman shook his head and headed back upstairs.

* * *

Cuddy must have gotten held up somewhere, because she was heading toward Wilson's office just as Foreman turned into the hallway. So he had a pretty good view as she gave the door a quick knock and then pushed it open.

And then pulled it shut, rapidly, a moment later.

Foreman hesitated, then decided he at least owed Cuddy moral support. She looked up as he closed the distance, and her expression was far more amused than shocked.

"Well," she said.

"Well," he repeated.

From behind the door he heard someone's hysterical laughter--_probably_ Wilson's--and then a click as the lock was mercifully engaged.

"I'm glad he didn't choke," Cuddy said, starting to shake with suppressed... well, it was either laughter or fury. "Oh, God. Talk about things I didn't need to see."

Foreman bit his lip. "Man, I really didn't need to owe Chase fifty bucks today."

Cuddy snorted. "Well, we all thought it would happen sooner or later, even without drugs," she said, with only a faint layer of sarcasm. "I just thought they'd wait until after lunch."

"Impulse control has never been one of House's strong suits."

She laughed, sharply, then smiled. "Yeah. Okay. Well, I suppose I'll see you... later."

Foreman nodded as she walked past, then stared at the closed door of Wilson's office for another second.

"Well, shit," he said, then continued on down the hall.

* * *

"Okay," he told Chase at lunch, "I owe you fifty."

Chase frowned as Foreman took the chair across from him. "That was easy," he said. "What'd you do, walk in on them in the bathroom?"

"Cuddy," Foreman clarified, "walked into Wilson's office at the wrong moment."

Chase wrinkled his face up. "Ew, gross."

"I thought you liked that kind of stuff."

"It's _House_," Chase said. "And... I wonder who was... fuck." He put his hand over his face, but Foreman could still see how hard he was blushing.

Foreman waited, picking at his food, until he recovered. "So, you win."

Chase half-laughed, then said, "Yeah, or, y'know, those pills are worth about fifty each on the black market, you could just--" he cut himself off with another smirk and shook his head. "Nevermind."

"You want another one?" Foreman raised his eyebrow. "I thought you hadn't noticed anything. Or is there someone you want to dose?"

Chase waved him off. "Y'know, it's not important. You wanna just get the first round tonight?"

"We're going out?"

"I assumed we were gonna drag Cameron to a lesbian bar. To celebrate."

Foreman snorted. "Yeah, okay, it's a plan."

Chase nodded, and he went back to his sandwich, and after another bite something clicked in what Chase had been talking about.

"Um," he said, and Chase looked up, "You know I'm not into that, right?"

Chase frowned. "What?"

"I had my gay experimentation phase. You were there."

"I didn't--" Chase grimaced. "Seriously. I got it. I'm not..."

"I'm just not into it."

Chase gave him a disapproving look. "That's the point."

"So I'm not going to."

"Sure." Chase looked away. "If you _were_ into it, the sex would have been better, that's all I'm saying."

* * *

Cameron didn't even question the lesbian bar idea. Nor did she ask why Chase, of all people, knew where to find one.

They weren't the only guys there, not quite. There were a couple of guys waiting tables, and one other patron who was tucked in a corner with six women.

"No, seriously, go dance with someone," Chase was cajoling Cameron.

"Yeah, fine," she said, "But I don't want to leave you guys alone."

"Don't worry about us," Chase said.

"I was worried about _Foreman_," she said. "Are you sure I can trust you alone with him?"

Foreman raised an eyebrow. Chase turned to give him a look, then said, "He's bigger than me."

Cameron snorted and headed to the bar.

Chase, for his part, didn't bring the pills up again. In fact, he wasn't very talkative, spending most of his time watching Cameron inch her way toward the dance floor. By the time Cameron had found someone to dance with, Chase was flirting with their waiter.

What the hell was it with the guy?

Foreman had never gotten the hang of casual hookups. Not really. Every time he'd tried, it had blown up into drama with little effort on his part. Chase, for all his many, many faults, seemed at least able to go for it--to have and enjoy casual sex without it being a huge deal.

Maybe it was just easier with other guys. Guys think alike--it wasn't that he was dissing, say, Cameron, but women didn't think about sex the same way. Some women thought that watching porn was _cheating_, ferchrissake.

Chase tilted the last of his beer down his throat, then stood. "Back in a sec."

Foreman watched. On the way to the men's room, Chase caught the eye of their waiter; a minute later, the guy set his tray down and slipped into the bathroom himself.

He tried really hard not to think about that--

_"Not much use out of this, is there?" Chase would ask._

_Their waiter--skinny Japanese guy, long hair--would smile at that, flirtatious still. "No, that's one nice thing about this place."_

_"Not likely to be disturbed, then?"_

_"Not unless your friend is going to join us."_

_Chase would roll his eyes at that thought. "My friend," he'd say, maybe starting to unzip his fly, "isn't into this."_

Foreman closed his eyes. Opened them, looked over at the dance floor, found Cameron grinding against a girl who'd escaped from a biker movie.

Then he pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket and resolved to make a stupid, impulsive decision.

The pill stuck in his throat, even with water, and he coughed liquid out of his trachea for a minute after. Great. Already he was regretting this.

And it wasn't like he wanted to hop into bed with Chase, anyway--or that he thought he would want that, in a few hours. He'd mostly dated black women, after all, wouldn't it stand to reason he'd be mostly into black men?

He sighed. Whichever it was, this was not the place to find out.

Chase came back a few minutes later, drained the rest of his glass of water and rubbed at the corner of his mouth. Foreman tried to ignore him. Even when the waiter came back and gave Chase a free beer, a lascivious grin, and his phone number.

"You do that sort of thing often?" Foreman finally asked.

Chase raised his eyebrows. "No, only when I'm trying to break up with my lesbian girlfriend."

"Chase..."

"I'm not a world class slut, if that's what you're thinking," he snapped.

Foreman sighed. "Never mind."

Chase gave him a measuring look for a minute, then turned and sought out Cameron on the dance floor. "Woah," he said when he spotted her. "Someone's enjoying those pills."

"Why were you two fighting, anyway?"

"Nothing." Chase turned back to his beer. "She just wanted space or something, I don't know."

This whole thing was stupid. Foreman sighed, and stood. "I'm going to settle up and head home," he said. "It looks like Cameron's in good hands. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Chase said vaguely. "See you on Monday."

* * *

He turned on the TV when he got home and let it drone in the background while he made food--mac and cheese, comfort food for when he didn't want to give a shit about the rest of the world. It had only been an hour or so since the bar. He didn't know how long it was going to take, but if he was going by Cameron's reaction pattern, sooner or later he'd start uncontrollably drooling over the anchors on the local news.

He rolled his eyes at himself and sat down to channel surf.

Nothing jumped out at him at first. He spent an hour or so flipping between the news, sitcom reruns, and the Sci-Fi Movie of the Week. No gay vibes there. He got up and stuck his plate in the sink, came back to the television, and watched in disinterest as the camera zoomed in on the shredded blouse of the obligatory screaming female love interest.

Wait.

As an undergrad, Eric had briefly dated a Women's Studies major who had attempted to explain the concept of the male gaze to him. He'd never really bought it because to him, most of the women on television weren't what he considered hot, so obviously her theory had a few flaws. They'd broken up pretty soon after that, if he remembered right. Her argument came back to him as he watched the camerawork on the crappy cable movie and realized that it kept framing the shots to highlight the assets of someone he definitely didn't want to sleep with.

It was a bit of a shock, to have the generic skinny white chick go from "not my type" to "not interesting at all." Mostly because it was hard to imagine that it was possible to be less interested.

Square-Jawed Hero, the protagonist of the movie, wasn't doing it for him either, though; nor was Obviously Doomed Black Sidekick. He watched for a few more minutes, then started flipping channels again. And it was weird. It wasn't even that he was seeing guys as any better looking. But suddenly gestures were starting to catch his eye, motions... things like that.

And then he switched to ESPN's basketball coverage--Timberwolves versus Blazers, he noticed automatically--and was frozen by a slow-motion replay of Brandon Roy effortlessly pivoting past a guard and into a layup.

_Yeah, okay,_ he thought, mouth going dry, _That. I'd like that, only with less clothes on._

He watched the rest of the game with a kind of dazed fascination, and switched off the talking heads at the end. Wow. That was... weird. And now his mind was spinning with thoughts of Roy's hands--wide, capable hands--and his intense, focused expression. Shit.

He really didn't want to be fantasizing about NBA rookies. Covered in sweat. No. Amazing hands. Fingers. Dammit. Eric started to wonder what his dick looked like, which was about the point when his train of thought jumped the tracks, tumbled into a ravine, and exploded, leaving him staring at the ceiling and drawing a desperate blank.

He did not, he carefully thought, want to be thinking about Brandon Roy's dick.

Okay.

The problem was, anyway, that the only dick he'd had that much contact with--besides his own--had been _Chase's_, and that was just... well, it was possibly weirder than fantasizing about a basketball player just because he was the first attractive thing Eric had seen after turning gay. Like imprinting. He had the sudden image of his own erection bobbing after Roy's ass like a duckling following its mother, and choked on a semi-hysterical laugh. Great. He was gay _and_ crazy.

And hell, now he was thinking about Chase's dick, and that one stupid night, and the funny little grin Chase had right before he came, and now wrapping his fingers around Chase's dick sounded like a _great_ idea.

It was a _terrible_ idea.

It was a terrible idea for those reasons that sleeping with your co-workers were always a terrible idea. Plus Chase had already gotten lucky with that waiter, and Eric had some kind of understanding of the male refractory period. And he wasn't thinking about Chase getting a blowjob now, oh God dammit.

And Chase was still interested, that was clear enough.

He wasn't going to go bother Chase, though. He had enough dignity, enough self-respect to keep from going there. He knew he was only thinking about it because he was gay now and hornier than he'd been in a while. Because that basketball game had slipped right past his normal defenses. Because he was now thinking about Chase's dick.

God, this was stupid. Why was he so focused on dick? His _co-worker's_ dick? Any minute now he was going to start writing poetry about it. _Six and a half inches / rampant and ready--_

He clapped his hands over his eyes in horror. He _was_ writing poetry about dick. He was now officially gayer than _W.H. Auden_.

Okay. It was okay. There was an obvious solution to this. He could go fire up his computer and find some gay porn on the internet. Free gay porn, even. Then he could jerk off and get some sleep and take another dose of Duranol-B the next morning, and everything would be back to normal.

He looked over at the corner of the room where his computer sat.

* * *

Chase opened the door after a couple knocks and stared at him in surprise. "Um, hi?"

Eric shoved his hands further in his pockets. Chase was in his boxers and socks, and a ratty t-shirt. He looked slightly sleepy. And... mussed. Eric bit his lip. "Hey," he said, then, "You didn't bring that waiter back here or something did you?"

Chase raised his eyebrows. "No, just me," he said. "You okay?"

"I took one of the pills," he blurted.

Chase sort of froze, eyes going wide.

"Can I come in?" Eric asked after a second.

"Sure," Chase said softly, and backed up, holding the door open.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Chase cleared his throat. "Look," Chase said, "you better not be fucking with me, 'cause--" as far as he got before Eric couldn't fucking _stand it_ and grabbed him by his hips and kissed him.

It wasn't like kissing a woman. Chase moaned and grabbed onto his shoulders like he was falling. Chase was an aggressive kisser, working his mouth, biting at Eric's lower lip. Eric groaned on the exhale and moved his hands to Chase's ass, locking their hips together. It wasn't like he was used to--but it was kissing someone he _wanted to fuck_, and that was plenty good.

And Chase liked kissing. That was surprising. Chase's hands slid, one down his back and the other up the back of his neck, and his tongue explored the inside of Eric's teeth. His whole body pressed up against Eric's front, warm and intense.

Eric pushed, gently, and Chase walked backward until Eric had him up against the wall. He pulled his hands around and up under Chase's shirt, feeling the expanse of hot skin and Chase's breathing stutter as Eric dragged his fingertips over his ribs.

"Fuck," Chase muttered into his mouth.

Eric pressed forward again, and Chase's head fell back against the wall. "I want," he said, then couldn't come up with words for the next part.

"C'mon," Chase said, then started trying to drag him sideways, back into the apartment. They got about as far as the living room and collapsed onto the couch, pulling at each others' clothes. Chase got naked faster. It was almost unfair, but then Eric got his hand on Chase's dick, and the _noise_ Chase made as he arched into his touch almost got him off right there. Good God.

"Ah, fuck, let me," Chase said. And fine, fine, if Eric could just keep touching him Chase could do whatever he wanted.

What Chase wanted was to squirm around so he was on top. Eric was pressed under the bony weight of knees and hips, hands on his shoulders. Then Chase slid one hand down between them and Eric stopped being able to really put it together for a while.

The next thing he cared about was that Chase had stopped supporting most of his own weight and was curled up on top of him. "Hey?"

"Hey," Chase said. "Good?"

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "You didn't--"

"No, I'm--" Chase ducked his head against Eric's shoulder, grinning sheepishly. "I'm fine. Really, I'm... I was just going to go sleep, before you turned up. You want to crash here?"

"You don't have to--" he protested, then thought about sitting up. His muscles and his head let him know just how much they objected to dragging his ass back to his car. "Um, that might be a good idea, though. If you don't--"

"Bed's more comfortable," Chase said, climbing off him. "C'mon."

He followed Chase to his room in clumsy slow motion; let Chase strip the rest of his clothes off before they slipped under the sheets. Chase liked cuddling. That was incredibly gay but also kinda nice.

He woke up with Chase snoring into his back, arm draped over his chest. Eric disentangled himself and went searching for his clothes.

He'd gotten his pants on and dug the bottle of Duranol-B out of his jacket when Chase wandered out, still mostly naked. Eric's stomach--okay, lower than the stomach--gave a bit of a jump. He looked good.

Chase nodded at the bottle in his hand. "So... that's it, then?"

"That was the plan." He shook one of the pills into his hand, then took another look at Chase's forcibly blank expression. "C'mon, I couldn't have been that good."

That got a smirk. "You get better with practice."

Eric sighed, looked down at the pill, back up at Chase. "I've been straight my whole life," he said, wondering why he was on the defensive, here. "It's normal for me. I don't want to change that."

"No, you just want to play around with it."

Eric glared at him for a moment, then defiantly dry-swallowed the pill. It went down easier this time. Chase watched him, arms crossed, expression turned resigned. He didn't move as Eric gathered up his clothes and got dressed.

Eric found himself straightening his jacket passive-aggressively. That was a sign to stop, chill, and figure out what was wrong. When he checked, Chase was staring off into the distance, sort of down into a corner. Eric bit his lip, shoved the bottle of Duranol-B into his pocket, and asked, "So what did you and Cameron fight about?"

Chase barely moved. "She didn't want to date me."

Foreman frowned. "She wanted to break up with you?"

"No--" Chase sighed, exasperatedly. "I was hoping we had something more in common than fucking occasionally and hating our boss. She didn't see it being a problem."

"You weren't dating." It came out as a statement.

Chase shook his head, once, sharply. "We were _fucking._" He looked up through his bangs. "_She_ seemed to be all right with it."

Eric winced. Okay, yeah, he'd been an asshole over that, in hindsight. And... his analogy radar was pinging, and Chase was back to staring at the floor.

"I have to go," he said.

Chase nodded.

Eric winced inwardly and let himself out. When he closed the door behind him, he let himself sigh. There wasn't anything he could have said. Not then.

He took the stairs down to his car two at a time.

* * *

The pills went on the table next to his bed.

Sunday morning, he still hadn't heard anything from Cameron. He looked at the bottle, hefted it experimentally. It still had about twenty pills in it, little yellow capsules.

Eric made himself some coffee and logged onto PubMed for some research. A couple hours later, he had his answer, or as close to one as he was going to get.

Three hours later, not sure if he should feel like a coward or not, he swallowed another pill.

Eight to ten days, on average, the side effects stopped being noticeable. The next week was going to be a pain in the ass.

* * *

Monday, side effects included occasional headaches, mild nausea, and appetite suppression.

"Foreman," Cameron said when he walked in, leaping out of her chair as if to attach herself to his arm. "I need help."

Occasional headache number one started to build behind his eyes. "You want another pill? I've got--"

"I don't know what to do! My girlfriend thinks I'm a lesbian and I don't know what I should say to her!"

Chase hadn't made it in yet, and House was being his usual punctual self. Foreman angled for the coffee. "You are a lesbian. At least right now. Do you want medication for that?"

"But what will she say? What will she do when she finds out?"

"Get a toaster?" He poured himself some coffee, added sugar. "Seriously, you don't have to switch back if you don't want to."

"But..." she was staring at him, one hand raised in appeal. "I mean, I don't know if this is a relationship. We just spent some time together--I don't think she knows what she's getting into with me. What I'm getting into with her."

Foreman sighed and pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket, shook one out, and handed it to her. "Here. Hold onto that, and when you want to be straight again, take it."

Cameron looked down at the pill in her hand, then back up to him. "But what do I do about Anna?"

Foreman opened his mouth, was about to say something, then saw Chase push open the door. Chase met his eyes for a moment, then ducked his head and headed for the coffee maker. Foreman shook his head slightly, then said, "You could try talking to her."

"So how was your big gay weekend?" Chase said as he stirred creamer into his coffee.

"Fine," Cameron said, going and claiming a spot at the table. "How was yours?"

"Oh, y'know," Chase answered, "Kinda fun for a while, eventually hollow and useless."

Cameron smirked. "I can't believe you actually went through with it." She gave him a look. "Aren't you going to get your un-gay pill from Foreman?"

"Yeah, I got one on Friday, after you went off with that biker chick," Chase said. Cameron bristled. Foreman felt his headache growing steadily worse.

"Fifteen year old female, bleeding out her tear ducts," House announced, pushing his way through the door and dropping a file on the table. "Oh, and anyone who _didn't_ have gay sex this weekend, raise your hand."

Foreman froze, staring dumbly, as House crossed to the whiteboard and wrote "Bloody tears". After a moment, House turned around and smirked at him. "Knew you couldn't resist that peer pressure."

"Woah," Cameron said. "Really?"

Foreman sighed. "Yes." When he looked up, she was staring at him. "You're not the only one who was curious."

Chase snorted.

"You two are so cute," House said, layering on the sarcasm. "Now Foreman and Cameron have to have sex, and then none of you will be able to work together."

Cameron gaped at that. "Wait, what? You guys--"

Chase cut her off. "Why do you take everything House says as gospel?"

"You really are easy," she said, ignoring him.

Foreman sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Eye infection," he said.

Cameron and Chase stared at him.

Foreman pointed at the whiteboard. "Patient?"

Chase stared for a moment more, then leaned forward to pick up the file. Cameron looked down at the table, then back up at House. House just smirked at all of them, then said, "Now that we've got that straightened out, any suggestions other than Foreman's?"

* * *

Tuesday he decided to hold off on taking the pill until after work.

"I still can't believe you had sex with Chase," Cameron confronted him when they had a free moment, like she'd been thinking about it all day and all night. "How could you go behind my back like that?"

"Hey," he said, "You said you broke up with him. You went and got a girlfriend."

"That's not the point!"

"He was pretty sure he was broken up with you," he continued.

She sighed and crossed her arms. "I just wish you'd told me."

"Cameron," he said, slowly, "This really wasn't about you. I know you guys were dating, but--"

"I just wanted to know! How am I supposed to make any rational decisions when you two are going around behind my back?"

Foreman pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly. "It's not an issue any more," he said. "Okay?"

Cameron looked at him for a long moment, and finally nodded. "Fine."

"So have you decided what to do about your girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "I haven't talked with her. I'm waiting for her to call. We have a date for Friday."

Foreman frowned, wondering if he'd maybe misheard her. Finally he said, "Well, if you're going to keep dating her, maybe you shouldn't worry about Chase."

"Chase can take care of himself," she said. It sounded almost like an agreement.

* * *

Wednesday he was vomiting half an hour after swallowing the damn pill, and he finally figured out that taking the doses eight hours apart every day was playing hell with his system. He took a quick shower, drank some water to try and clear his throat.

"You look like hell," Chase commented when he walked in.

"Screw you," he said.

Chase snorted. "Sue me for caring."

Thursday, he nerved himself and took the next pill with breakfast. It stayed down.

He didn't usually have to think about sex during work. But it was weird, anyway, not having to focus, at all, on keeping his eye lines professional when working with anyone female; he was used to it being a reflex, used to having more important things to deal with, unused to not having the impulse to scope out a woman's body in the first place.

And then he bumped into Wilson coming out of his office, realized that House and Wilson were probably still having sex--hopefully not on Wilson's office furniture any more, but _still_\--and had to stop and stare at the details of their patient's blood pressure while he got his own under control. And he didn't even _like_ Wilson. Or House.

Friday he was straight again. He figured. And they finally figured out what was wrong with their patient, which was much more important.

"Well," Cameron said at the end of the day, "wish me luck."

Foreman raised his eyebrows. Chase was blatantly ignoring her, so he asked, "You're going to go through with it?"

"I can't not show up for a date," she said.

"You gonna tell her you're a fake lesbian?" Chase muttered.

Cameron bristled. "I'm really a lesbian, right now," she said.

Foreman sighed. He was about to say good luck, until Chase said in a voice like a snapped rubber band, "Being queer isn't just about popping a pill and having a vacation from being straight. It's about dealing with shit." He looked up, finally, and Cameron was staring back at him, bewildered. "You know, if you actually want to date this girl, she's gonna know what it's like to have _been_ gay, and she's gonna resent you waltzing in on your experimental weekend fling with the other side."

Cameron was speechless for about two breaths. Then she snapped, "Where the hell do you get off? You were gay for, what, a weekend? A day?"

"I've _been_ bi," Chase said, and Foreman had to think this was not how Chase had imagined this particular coming out would go.

"Since when?"

"Since... puberty," Chase said, "Since my _life_."

"But... we..."

Chase scowled. "That's why I said _bi_."

Cameron's hands were pulled into fists, Foreman noticed; not like she was going to punch someone, but like she wanted to keep her hands from fidgeting. Finally she said, "Well, I'm going on this date. Anna likes _me_, fake lesbian or not."

Chase watched her go, sighed when she was out the door. "That could have gone better."

Foreman shrugged. "As coming out drama goes, I thought it went pretty well."

"Went better with you," Chase remarked. "'Course, I wasn't dating you at the time."

Foreman didn't really have anything to say to that.

Chase stood and grabbed his jacket, wound his scarf around his neck. As he bent over to grab his bag, Foreman let his eyes flick over his legs, his ass--

Woah, okay.

Chase threw the strap over his shoulder as Foreman hastily rechecked his mental arithmetic. "Seeya Monday."

"Yeah," Eric said. "Seeya."

* * *

Saturday, all the mental tricks Eric had been using to check who he _wasn't_ sexually attracted to stopped working.

Chase looked even more surprised when he opened the door than he had the previous Friday. "What's up?"

Eric bit his lip, then said, "You know those pills? I decided to keep taking them."

Chase stared at him for a second, then warily crossed his arms and leaned on the frame of his door. "Okay. What's going on?"

"Well," Eric said, "I don't know if we have a lot in common besides getting mad at House. And the sex. But I'm willing to at least give it a shot."

"You're asking me on a date?" Chase's face was a picture of bewilderment. "You don't even _like_ me."

Eric felt himself grinning involuntarily, had to look away for a moment. "I like you," he admitted.

Chase narrowed his eyes. "You don't respect me," he clarified.

Eric took a deep breath. Then he nodded. But he met Chase's eyes when he said, "You're not as good a doctor as you could be. As you could be _easily._ That's frustrating."

Chase was appallingly still, and Eric wondered if he'd just fucked up the guy's day worse, and come all this way for nothing. "You must like me," Chase finally said, sounding confused. "Weirdest fucking thing I've learned all day, and I've had the History Channel on."

Eric grinned, and Chase finally cracked a smile in return. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Chase said, holding the door open. "Fuck, yeah."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a "set of rules" for how Duranol-B works in my head, but basically it's medication with a set of effects that work for most people, not everyone. Sexuality is an amazing and complicated thing in humans, and I don't want to assume that there's a magic gay/straight toggle in your head. I'm dealing with a small group of people in this story, so the variation in effects isn't that obvious.
> 
> Also, Foreman obviously hasn't heard of [The Platonic Blow.](http://www.lapetiteclaudine.com/archives/Auden_The_PLatonic_blow.txt)
> 
> Also also, [Brandon Roy.](http://www.nba.com/gallery/pg_brandon_roy_3.html) That. I'd like that, only with less clothes on.


End file.
